by Greg Ripley
“Long Daozhang, is that Tai Chi they are practicing?” Rohini asked.
“It is. This is Wudang Taijiquan. The monks from the Wudang Mountains preserved many of the traditional styles of Daoist martial arts when Daoism and the rest of traditional Chinese culture were suppressed in the last century. The teacher you see there grew up in Wudang, but eventually found his way here when he was practicing as a wandering Daoist. As Daoists we believe it is important to practice these arts for health preservation, but also as a moving meditation, and spiritual cultivation. It is a good way to bring the clarity and stillness of meditation into our daily lives off the cushion. As members of the society we also try to keep up our fighting skills should we ever need them to fight against injustice, or defend others. In this modern era this is rarely needed. The society usually works to influence events behind the scenes in a more systemic way.”
After showing them to the guesthouse, the Abbot left them to settle in to the simple accommodations. There was a central sitting room which led to six bedrooms, three on either side of a short hallway, as well as a bathroom at the end of the hall. There were two chairs and a couch around a table which held a vase of flowers, as well as a few extra ottoman type seats in the corner, and a bench under one of the room’s two windows. After choosing their rooms and freshening up a bit, Rohini ran into Jane as she came out of the bathroom.
“I feel right at home. They’ve even got a composting toilet in there,” Rohini said.
“You mean like one of those chemical toilets?” Jane said.
“No, these are much simpler. It’s basically like an outhouse toilet you might find in a National Forest in the US, but instead of being built over a pit, they usually open from the outside to be emptied or else the entire bottom pulls out like a cart. Sometimes, they’ll have peat or something like that to sprinkle over the top to keep the smell down. Here they use sawdust, but it works surprisingly well for something so simple. Just sprinkle a layer of sawdust over your business when you’re done and voila. I imagine they probably use the composted night soil in the fields.”
“Well, it sure beats digging a hole,” Jane said, after she came out. “Thanks for the heads up on the sawdust—I’m not so sure I would have figured that one out right away.”
A short time later a monk retrieved them and led them to the dining hall. Once there, they sat with the other residents of the monastery and enjoyed the simple fare offered for dinner. There were plentiful vegetable dishes, which Rohini learned later was typical of the monastic diet. Daoist monks, like their Buddhist counterparts in China, typically eat a vegetarian diet and often avoid the so-called ‘five strong-flavored foods’ from the allium family: onions, scallions, shallots, leeks, and garlic. Rohini’s aunt practiced this tradition as well, which is where Rohini had first heard about it.
It came as a bit of a shock to Rohini. She had grown up eating Indian food as well as developing a love of Mexican and Italian food. Onions, garlic, and strong flavors were an integral part of her diet. There were few things she liked better than a nice rustic fettunta or a good garlic naan. Yet the dishes offered here didn’t follow the usual monastic diet, they were quite flavorful—a few even a bit spicy—and along with some tofu, they were using the sheep’s milk cheese in a few of the dishes. It was treated much like Indian paneer, diced and lightly fried.
Guangming had been a bit surprised, expecting typical monastic fare, but this was not a typical monastery, in more ways than one. The meal concluded with a prayer, after which it was acceptable to speak. Rohini had hoped for a chance to explore the grounds a bit more, but the sun had gone down and having spent a few days in the fresh mountain air, exerting themselves on their journey, she was more than ready for an early night’s sleep in an actual bed.
She noticed on the way back to the guesthouse that although the monastery had electric lights, they were just sufficient to allow for navigating the grounds, and there was little light pollution. The lighting along the various paths and courtyards was small and low key, and hooded to prevent the lights from shining up into the night sky. Rohini wondered if this was to make the monastery less visible or just in keeping with the sustainability and frugality of the place.
Regardless, she was highly appreciative of it, as it left the view of the night sky in all its vast, dark glory. One of the small gazebo-like structures was on their way back to their quarters, up a flight of stairs on a natural rocky prominence incorporated into the design of the temple grounds. There was a large boulder embedded into the railing of the structure, inscribed with characters.
“What does this say, Guangming?” Rohini asked.
“It’s the name of this place, ‘Waiting for the Immortals Terrace,’” Guangming said.
“How appropriate,” she said, stopping to admire the stars.
Living in the city, she had forgotten how much she liked to stare into the night sky, but the last few nights around the campfire had reminded her. She thought the others had all gone on to the guesthouse, but after a few moments she realized Jimmie had lingered as well.
“I hope you don’t mind the company,” he said.
“Not at all.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, taking in the stars, but Rohini could sense the tension between them. She was attracted to Jimmie and knew the feeling was mutual. They stood side by side, their hands resting on the railing as they looked at the stars, or at least pretended to. She reached out and covered his hand with hers, noticing his surprise, and smiled. The thought of inviting Jimmie to her room occurred to her, yet it seemed wrong somehow, given their current surroundings. How ironic, she thought, here I am falling for a movie star in the middle of a monastery. Jimmie reached over and brushed the hair back from her face and slowly leaned in, kissing her softly, her lips rising to meet his.
They lingered on the terrace for a while before walking back to their quarters holding hands, but when the guesthouse came into view, Rohini let Jimmie’s hand go.
“Let’s keep this to ourselves for now, OK?” she said.
“That’s fine, I understand. We’re in no rush here. We’ll have plenty of time to see if this is going anywhere when we get back to the real world,” Jimmie replied.
When they arrived, Jane was in the sitting room. “There you are. I was about to come looking for you. We probably can’t get much more low-key than this place, but you’re still my responsibility,” she said, looking back and forth between Rohini and Jimmie.
“I’m fine. Besides, I had Jimmie to look out for me,” Rohini replied, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to hide the grin threatening to break out across her face. “It’s getting late,” she said, faking a yawn. “I think I’ll head to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, Jimmie.”
“Goodnight.”
36
Green Dragon Mountains
The Elders’ World
They left as soon as Zhongkui had packed his things. While the Elders could travel energetically within a world as well as between planets, there were limitations. For one, they were limited in what they could bring with them, which basically amounted to the clothes on their backs. And not just any clothes. They had to be made of natural materials.
The Elders over the centuries had perfected materials which worked best for this as well as for their everyday needs. Another constraint was that it took some practice to reform the clothing correctly when rematerializing. It usually took many hours of meditation until one could come to identify with the clothing sufficiently. It needed to become like a second skin if they wanted to be able to reform it without a great conscious effort after traveling. During training, it wasn’t unusual for neophytes to reappear from some of their initial attempts stark naked.
While Zhongkui could have left his weapons and other belongings in his retreat cave—had he been sure he would return—it was customary for warriors, especially a master warrior such as himself, to be ar
med. There had been no wars on their world in thousands of years, but despite that fact—or perhaps because of it—the custom had persisted.
Crime, like that which he had known on Earth, was virtually unheard of here. The only people who stole were children, or those with mental problems, both of which were rare in the Elders’ society. The usual motivations for theft simply didn’t exist. Everyone had access to all the basic necessities of life. Food, water, clothing, and shelter—these were all taken for granted.
The Elders had long moved beyond the acquisition of wealth as a primary motivation and were more concerned with self-cultivation. For some, this meant meditation and spiritual cultivation. For others, it meant becoming highly skilled in the various arts and crafts of their culture. Builders were afforded the same respect as swordsmiths. Scholars or chefs, bards, or brewers—all were shown equal respect on their world.
Only members of the council and the masters of the two houses—the House of Scholars and the House of Warriors—were perhaps afforded a greater amount of respect, but this was in recognition of their wisdom and skill, not their position. For any member of the twelve clans to be elevated to councilor or master meant they were universally respected.
The trip back over the Dragon’s Spine to the New Capital would take more than a day. Speaking with the Council and preparing for traveling to Earth would take the next, Zhongkui estimated. He should be on Earth the day after next. Hopefully that will be in time. While it didn’t sound as though his pupil Sinéad and her charge were in immediate danger, he’d feel better knowing firsthand.
Zhongkui had every confidence in Sinéad’s abilities, despite her lack of training in the House of Warriors. After all, he’d trained her himself. Because she was an Earth Elder, the council wasn’t willing to bring her to their world for training. It was felt that Zhongkui, being one of the greatest warriors in memory, and being originally from Earth, was especially suited to mentor her on Earth. He only hoped it had been enough.
If they are harmed due to a lack of instruction on my part, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll have to go back into retreat. Zhongkui chuckled to himself as the thought occurred to him, drawing strange looks from his companions.
Well, he is an Earthling, after all, Dayan thought. They always retain a peculiar sense of humor, no matter how long they’ve been here. While he would never display a breach in etiquette—a quality which served him well as Speaker—Dayan had never quite been able to see off-worlders as equals. He’d always looked slightly down his nose at them. Even those of the bloodline from Earth, such as Zhongkui, who had proved themselves every bit as capable as natural-born Elders.
They spoke little as they trekked, Elders were generally not big on small talk. Unlike Earthlings, they outgrew the need to fill a void during their long lives. But when they stopped to camp that night there were story and song as was customary. Elders always remained curious despite their great longevity. When they stopped being curious, it was seen as a sign they were ready to return to the One.
As they sat around a small campfire that evening, Jianhu spoke first. “Master, do you still have that stringed instrument you used to play? Would you honor us with a song?”
“The guqin? It’s a little bulky to travel with,” Zhongkui said. “I only have a flute, I’m afraid, but I’d be happy to play a song.” Retrieving a flute from his pack, he returned to his seat on a fallen log and began to play. It was a sparse melody, with a haunting quality, different than the musical styles of the Elders which tended to be more upbeat. This was a song of loss.
“That was beautiful, master,” Jianhu said, when it was finished. “Thank you.”
“It was quite unusual,” Dayan said. “Is that a typical song of Earth?”
“That style of flute playing comes from the country of my birth, China. As you know, Earth’s cultures are many. There is just as much variety in their musical styles. Most cultures have music for happier times—celebrations and the like—which you would find similar to the music of this world. Music on Earth tends to express the full range of human emotions which tend to have higher highs and lower lows than this world.”
“So, this was a song of sorrow then?” Dayan said.
“Indeed. Leaving retreat to see the Guide and the Council, I can’t help but be reminded of my great love, Guanyin,” Zhongkui said. “I am also worried about my pupil and this song seemed a fitting expression of my mood.”
“I see,” Dayan said.
“Elder culture was more diverse before the Great War, was it not? I would imagine the music must have been as well. I must admit as harmonious as society is here, I sometimes miss the sheer variety of life on Earth,” Zhongkui said.
“But doesn’t that diversity lead to the discord which is responsible for the dire situation they find themselves in?” Dayan said.
“Perhaps. I think it has more to do with negative emotions and delusion than an honest difference of opinion, however. It is possible to disagree without being disagreeable—the council is a prime example of this. Earth’s problems have only changed by degree, it seems. The self-centeredness, the avarice, and lust for power which have fueled most wars on Earth have not really changed. The difference now is that human society has become so much more intertwined,” Zhongkui said.
“When major disruptions, whether in a society or the environment, happen today, the ripples are felt around the world. Not so long ago, people on one side of the globe could live their entire lives completely ignorant of other countries and cultures. When I was a child growing up in China, I knew nothing of the outside world. This is becoming less and less possible, although there are always those willing to lead small lives, oblivious of the greater world around them.”
“Maybe one of the benefits of learning of the existence of worlds beyond their own will be a newfound sense of unity among the Earthlings,” Jianhu said. “That would be a natural reaction to such a revelation.”
“That is my hope as well,” Zhongkui said. “Although, knowing my fellow Earthlings as I do, it is just as likely that they will turn on each other. They may react to the unknown with fear and suspicion. If, as you told me, someone on Earth is trying to sabotage our two worlds working together, I fear that—at least for some of them—that is the case.”
“Master Zhongkui, is it true what I’ve heard, that you have become a mythic figure on Earth?” Dayan said, “That some view you as a God?”
“Yes. For better or worse, it is true. Many legends and superstitions have grown up about me. Some are based in truth, others are purely fantasy,” Zhongkui said.
“What is it they call you, the Ghost Hunter?” Jianhu said smiling, enjoying the rare opportunity to tease her former teacher.
“Ghosts? You mean you have disembodied spirits roaming the Earth?” Dayan said.
“Some would say so,” Zhongkui said. “The culture of China where I was born and raised developed quite an extensive knowledge of these things. They categorized ghosts and spirits into dozens of different kinds. Don’t the Watchers say there are entire worlds like this in the universe? On Earth, people tend to either believe in these types of spirits, or else they discount them completely as purely imaginary.”
“And what do you say?” Dayan asked.
“Well, there is a third way to view these phenomena, much in the way the Elders deal with mental illness. These phenomena can be viewed as existing, just not in the way they appear,” Zhongkui replied. “As energetic phenomena, they have an existence of a sort, but they are inextricably tied to the viewer, like all phenomena in the universe. Sometimes these phenomena are given life by the viewer. They are literally willed into being—intentionally or otherwise. At other times, outside energetic phenomena seem to actually exist independently and affect the viewer, and in many cases the origins are not clear.”
“So, how did you acquire this legendary status, if I may ask?” Dayan said.
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br /> “Well, as a Daoist priest I was trained in rituals and methods to deal with these cases,” Zhongkui said. “Sometimes all that was needed was a ritual occasion to help someone deal with whatever had brought about the phenomena. This was the case when the issue was more psychological in nature. I was also trained to deal with less benign energetic phenomena such as the incident which cemented my legend.
“After I had become an Elder, I returned to Earth many times. On one of these trips I became aware that a malevolent energy was causing the leader of my country, the Emperor Xuanzong, to fall ill. None of the royal physicians were able to heal him, so I traveled energetically to his sleeping quarters one night to see if I might be able to help. Emperor Xuanzong slept fitfully, and awoke in a feverish state as I was removing this pernicious energy from him. I explained that I was an Immortal and that I was curing him. In his feverish state his dreams mixed with reality. The next morning, he awoke healed and my legend was born. Of course, the legend is much more colorful than the reality.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, master. Didn’t you once tell me that in the popular stories it was said you were thrown out of government service because you were too ugly?” Jianhu said, smiling.
Dayan couldn’t help but chuckle, until Zhongkui fixed him with a glare.
“Go ahead, have your fun,” Zhongkui said. “Obviously it wasn’t a physical ugliness,” he said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “But a meanness of spirit. As a young man I had quite a temper. Conquering my rage was essential to my self-cultivation. There is a great deal of energy in anger. When transformed it becomes a powerful fuel which can be used for good, but when it burns out of control it can consume you.”
